CLOSE
ENCOUNTERS OF THE UNBELIEVABLE KIND
by A.V.
Dhanushkodi
Hamlet:
“There are more things in heaven an earth Horatio, than are dreamt of in your
philosophy ”--- HAMLET, ACT I, Scene V
EPISODE
TWELVE -- THE SEVENTH FLOOR
A Gothic interior in a mediaeval
castle. A huge window on the left and,
directly opposite, a large fireplace with flames dancing to the tune of the
wind as it howls at irregular intervals through the window. A flight of steps goes up to a running
balcony at the far end of which one could see two massive oak panelled doors. The long and plaintive whining of a lone wolf
is heard intermittently far away in the desolate wilderness.
In a deep leather upholstered sofa in
front of the fireplace, a beautiful but pale looking young woman sits reclined,
with a thick volume of much thumbed-through book, open and lying in her
lap. She is fast asleep. The jittery flames play bizarre patterns on
her face. Again, the distant howling of
the lone wolf is heard faintly.
Suddenly, a blinding flash of lightning
lights up the room in an ashen pallor, followed within seconds by a whiplash
crack of thunder and the room trembles. The sleeping woman wakes up with a start, to
see a horde of screeching bats, flapping their wings noisily, rush in through
the large window and rush out through
the raging fireplace. She screams in
horror as she watches them, when….
….a huge bat gently rides the wind,
flapping its enormous stygian black wings, and lands on the windowsill. It is tall, lean, pale, and hypnotically
handsome. It is the horror of all
horrors, the eternal blood-sucking bat, the very Count von Dracula himself, in
“flesh and blood”.
The Count glides down to the floor, as
light as the downy feather of a dove, and walks towards the beautiful woman,
parting his thin bloody lips and baring his fangs in a mesmeric smile. She looks at him and opens her mouth wide in
wonderment and, as he comes within inches of her, faints. He gathers her up in his arms and plunges his
fangs deep into her long, white, and slender neck.
Suddenly the thundering hooves of
horses approach the castle. The Count
drops the damsel down in a heap and looks at the fireplace. The huge mirror above it does not show his
reflection. In anger he stares at it and
the huge mirror cracks to smithereens and collapses within itself. He leaps into the fireplace and flies up with
a swoosh, when the huge doors behind are thrown open and the master of the
castle thunders in to find his wife in a heap, with blood trickling down her
dainty neck from two fang marks.
He looks at his wife in horror and
anger. Then he throws his head up and lets
out a blood-curdling howl: “Ohhhhhh……. You blood-sucking fiendish horror! I will roast you in hell-fire to eternity!”
“Ja, gut…gut…sehr gut! Ist genug fuer heute, Ja? Aber sehen Sie Herr Count von Dracula, Sie
muessen aber den Gang zum Maedchen mit dem Takt der Musik synchronisieren”,
spits Director Fischerrauer into one of the many microphones arrayed in front
of him on the director’s table, pushing its button into action.
Count von Dracula throws up his hands
in utter desperation, “Ich weiss, ich weiss, Herr Fischerrauer, aber das ist ja so
unmoeglich!”
Sitting behind Fischerrauer and
watching the rehearsals for Dracula at one of the three theatres of the
Staatstheater Complex in Berlin
in October 1973, I was enjoying this daily ritual of desperate verbal duels
between the Count and the Director. The
Director would insist that the Count must synchronize his every move to the recorded
horror music and the Count---who could fly like a bat, crack a huge mirror with
one look, jump into the fireplace and fly up through the chimney---would wail
like a helpless baby that he could not do it!
Later, at the Canteen during the lunch break, he would swear that he
would go for the jugular of Fischerrauer, after the opening night of the play!
The opening night was a resounding
success. The audience lapped it all up,
in spite of knowing by heart the whole story.
Dracula, for the Europeans, is an eternally loveable legend. After much of hugging and back-patting in the
green room, everyone was looking for Fischerrauer to congratulate him. The Count, though, was looking for
Fischerrauer for an entirely different reason.
He had not removed his costume and personal props, especially his
fangs. However, we were informed by the
Stage Manager, that Herr Fischerrauer had left the theatre five minutes before the
final curtain, to catch the last flight to Vienna, where he had another directorial
assignment waiting for him, perhaps another stage version of Bram Stoker’s
Count von Dracula! We, however,
suspected that he must have received telepathic transmission of Dracula’s
intention, well in advance.
*
I was rehearsing for King Duncan in
Macbeth with the Madras Players, when the Goethe Institute in Madras informed me that I had been selected
for a six-month visit to the Federal Republic of Germany, to study contemporary
German theatre in different cities. I
was thrilled beyond words. It was not a
dream-cum-true project, because I had not even dreamt of such an offer! I learned later, that the scholarship was the
direct outcome of my participation in the all-India theatre workshop in Simla
the previous year.
When I applied for leave for six months
at the American Consulate General, where I was working then, my Consul warned
me not to be away for such a long time, as they might discover that if they
could function without me for six
months, they really would not need me at all forever. Acting on his wise advice, I took three-month
leave and boarded a Lufthansa flight from Madras
to Frankfurt, on October 2, soon after the
performances of Macbeth at the British Council.
*
From day one, I was absolutely at home
in Berlin, my first city of stay, in stark contrast to my intense feeling of
unease in Delhi, Bombay, Hyderbad, Bangalore, Mangalore, or Cochin, whenever I
used to visit those cities on official assignments. As modesty is not one of my virtues, I should
say that many Germans were surprised that it was day one of my first visit to Germany
in all my life.
My stay in Berlin for a month is memorable for other
reasons as well. Every evening I
attended a play, met all the stars of the German theatre world at the Open Door
Theatre Festival, interviewed Bruno Ganz, one of the star performers of the
stage, crossed over to East Berlin and attended the performance of Berthold
Brecht’s Galileo Galilei at the Bert
Brecht’s Theatre, saw all that a tourist ought to see, and so on. To top it all, was the Gemaelde Gallerie, where I spent hours feasting on the stunning beauty of the well-known and the not so well-known paintings of Ruebens and the other Renaissance masters. When I had to leave Berlin at the end of October, my heart was
heavy.
*
Munich was next. The International Theatre Institute had
arranged my stay with an elderly couple in Munich, the Hausmanns. They lived in an apartment in Stunzstrasse,
in the outskirts of Munich. When I moved into one of the bedrooms they
had made ready for me, I found the room, the couple, and the house, all very warm
and comfortable. Also, to my great
delight, I discovered on the very first day, that Herr Hausemann was an
artist! There was nothing more I needed
to feel absolutely at home.
My daily routine began within a day or
two after my arrival in Munich:
daily visits to the Residenz Theater to attend rehearsals for Das Weite
Land, under the direction of Kurt
Meisel, a renowned actor and director. I
was fortunate to attend the rehearsals from the very beginning of reading and
discussing the play, until almost it was ready for the stage. I cancelled my scheduled stay in Hamburg for the month of
December, as there was no significant theatre activity going on there and
because I found the rehearsals for Das
Weite Land extremely interesting.
Evenings, I saw a play without fail and returned home around 11.30 in
the night. I did sightseeing, whenever I
found some time during daytime.
It was during one such sightseeing
jaunts in the city, as I was walking on the pavement, I was blessed with one of
mother nature’s loveliest bounties from Heaven, the first fall of snow! It was such a transporting experience, when
insubstantial airy snowflakes in translucent abstract patters gently floated
down from the skies and settled all over me and everything around. When I touched them, they melted instantly,
even before my fingers could feel the tactile sensation, leaving just a drop of
cool water. I think it was around late
November, when it started snowing. I
heard later, that it had never snowed so heavily in twenty years, pulling down
the day temperature to a few degrees below zero and the night temperature to
minus twenty. Every night, returning
home around 11.30 after watching a play, I would trudge my way from the last
stop of the tram service to Stunzstrasse in three to four inch deep snow. I could feel my feet and hands securely
attached to my body, as I had covered them with woollen socks, leather shoes,
and gloves, but I wasn’t too sure of the whereabouts of my long nose and big
ears.
Those nocturnal walks, through the
deserted streets of the suburb, often sent chills down my spine, as if the
night temperature was not to be trusted to do that job. My imagination took bizarre shapes and
sounds, which kept me company through the fifteen-minute walk every night. When I saw the moon on a clear blue
night-sky, I heard the baying of wolves somewhere far away, but clear. Some nights, I thought I even saw a few large
bats flapping their wings noisily, dogging my steps now and then. Although I knew they were mere
hallucinations, only when I let myself into the apartment building where I stayed, I
felt safe.
*
One night, just before entering the apartment,
I extracted a pack of Bensen & Hedges from the coin-operated vending
machine and stepped into the foyer. The
foyer was a very small area, housing the lift and the flight of stairs going
up. I stood there for a few moments to
light a cigarette and then pressed the button to open the lift door. I got into the lift and waited for the doors
to close, after pressing the button 6, the floor where I was staying with the
Hausmanns.
The moment the doors began to close, I
saw a tall figure enter the lift and stand next to me. I could not see him very clearly, because my
spectacles were covered with a thin layer of frost, coming into a warm interior
from a cold exterior. Furthermore, the
swirling smoke from my cigarette reduced
visibility to near zero. However, I did
not care much to see him or wish him.
When the lift stopped at the sixth floor, I got out, but he did
not. I walked away from the lift, let
myself in with my keys, and went to bed, without another thought about the tall
stranger.
*
I visited the theatre without fail
every day to attend the rehearsals. It
was a delight watching Kurt Meisel direct the actors. He was always on his feet, on the stage,
explaining every nuance of action, emotion, and portrayal of characters. Himself being a brilliant actor (I watched
his performance with great pleasure in Einen
Jux Will Er Sich Machen ), often he even demonstrated how a line or an
action should be rendered. The play was
based on the theme that every human being was a vast land (das Weite Land),
which contained a myriad of characters contradicting and complementing each
other at the same time. A theme almost
akin to what Hermann Hesse expounds in his divinely poetic style in Siddhartha, which was later made into a
film with Sashi Kapoor and Simmi Garewal in the lead roles. The film made a stunning visual impact on me,
with Sven Nykvist handling the camera: every frame was like a painting from the
Renaissance movement in Europe, at the pinnacle of its glory.
*
Walking home from the last stop of the
tram around 11.30 every night, my thoughts would wander in all directions,
often coming back to the Count. I would
then chuckle to myself, wondering what a loveable character he was, recalling
his growing desperation as the opening night approached. In my mind, the fabled Count and the stage
Count merged into one. When such
thoughts occurred, I fancied I did hear a lone wolf somewhere in the vicinity,
at times near enough to send a wave of shivers within me.
As usual, I bought a pack of Bensen
& Hedges from the vending machine, before entering the apartment building
one night. Again, as usual, I opened the
pack in the foyer and lit a cigarette.
When I stretched my arm to press the button to open the door, I
discovered to my surprise that the door was open and the tall foggy figure was
already within the lift. His head seemed
to touch the ceiling of the lift cubicle, at least seven feet high. I could not see him clearly this time also, as
my glasses were covered with frost. I
could not wipe my glasses, as I was wearing thick leather gloves, despite which
my hands were already numb. For a moment
I thought I should let the lift go, but the door did not close automatically;
it seemed to wait for me to enter. I
stepped in, wondering why I hesitated at all, and the door closed
automatically.
As the lift slowly trundled up, my
nostrils picked up a strange scent, a familiar scent, but I was unable to
identify it. When the lift reached the
sixth floor it stopped and I got out. I
lingered for a second, to see if the stranger would step out, but he did
not. The door of the lift closed. Well, he obviously lived on the seventh
floor. I let myself in with my key and
went to bed.
*
On holidays and Sundays, I loved to
spend the time with Herr Hausmann in his cosy little “studio”, smoking and
chatting with him, as he drew his pictures with Indian ink on small watmann
sheets. We would be sipping a glass each
of the legendary German beer. He was
proud that we were artists. He would
recount snippets from his life, and I would tell him about myself and my
experiences in Germany. He was proud that I had come all the way from
India
to study German theatre and, in the same breath, talk with genuine admiration
and respect about Indian civilization, culture, and fine arts. He would then punctuate his ramblings with a
sigh and a wish, now and then, how he would love to visit India. After our bout of tête-à-tête in his studio,
invariably I was hosted to lunch by the Hausemanns. Evenings, I would take long walks in the neighbourhood,
if it was not snowing.
My day of departure was fast
approaching. I was to leave for London before Christmas, to spend the festive days with
friends there, before leaving for India, for the New Year eve.
*
It was my last day at the theatre. The play was scheduled to open on Christmas eve, and they were having a
run-through every day and fine-tuning after each run-through. I took leave of all the actors and the
director that evening. After attending
the performance of another play at another theatre, I took the tram to
Stunzstrasse.
Getting down at the last stop and
walking through the narrow winding streets, I took in everything eagerly and
hungrily, for I was not sure if I would ever come again to that part of the
world. It had snowed rather mercifully
that day, that my steps were light and less bothersome. The moon was full, tinged with pale Naples
Yellow and looked really like a ball of cottage cheese. Everything was quiet, not a soul on the
streets.
I bought two packs of Bensen & Hedges
from the vending machine and walked towards my apartment building, opening one
of the packs on the way. In the foyer, I
took my time to pull out a cigarette and light it. Inhaling the warm smoke and letting it fill
my lungs, I pressed the button to open the lift door. As the door opened slowly, I got the rudest
shock of my life.
Standing inside the lift, filling the
full height of the cubicle, was the foggy figure I had “seen” before
twice. He could not have come in after
me? If he had come into the building
before me and got into the lift, he had had enough time to start moving
up? Why didn’t he?
As I was standing there undecided, he
spoke, “Come in, it’s getting late for me”, in German of course. His voice sounded like a computer generated
sound, than a human voice.
I stepped into the lift and the door
was closing slowly. Realizing that that
would be the last time with him in the lift, I was determined to take a good
look at him. The lift started to pull us
up.
Although I knew that without my
glasses my vision was poor, I removed them, at least to do away with the misty
veil, which was covering my vision. When
I removed them, I was in for another surprise:
my vision was still covered with mist, as if I still had my glasses on!
He spoke again, “I was waiting for you
in the lift….to say auf Wiedersehen!
Wish you a pleasant stay in London!” He extended his hand, but I did not. I merely said, “Thank you” and fell
silent. How did he know? Herr Hausmann
must have informed him.
The lift came to a stop on the sixth
floor. As the door opened slowly, I
asked him, “Where do you live?”
“On the seventh,” he replied with a
chuckle.
“Of course!” I blurted, rather
sheepishly. Then I added, “Auf Wiedersehen!” more out of politeness, and stepped
out.
“Auf Wiedersehen!” he repeated, as the
door was closing gently.
I stood there and watched the door
close fully. Then I looked at the
backlit panel above the door: the arrow was pointing up.
Coming into my room, I started packing
my things, as I had to catch the flight to London early next morning. My head was swarming with many myriad
thoughts of my stay in Germany,
and often I wondered why I had not made an effort to get to know the stranger
in the lift.
*
Early next morning, I took leave of the
Hausmanns with a lump in my throat. I
promised them I would be their host, if ever they came to India.
I took my big suitcase and walked out
of the apartment. Herr Hausmann
accompanied me to the lift. I put the
suitcase down and pressed the lift button.
As we waited for the lift to come up
from the ground floor, I asked Herr Housmann, “Tell me Sir, who lives on the
seventh floor?” pointing my finger up.
Herr Hausmann looked puzzled, “Sorry, I
don’t understand you. Did you say the
seventh floor?”
I replied, “Yes. The seventh floor”.
He looked even more puzzled. After a second or two, he said, “Nobody.”
“What?” I asked. It was now my turn to be puzzled, “Are you
sure?”
Herr Hausmann looked up at me with a
curious expression, “Herr Dhanushkodi, there is no seventh floor!”
*
The sun was coming up, as I walked out
of the apartment building a few minutes later, carrying my suitcase. I had a feeling of complete satisfaction that
I had seen in Germany
much more than I had hoped for.
A.V. Dhanushkodi
June 2011
